The sharp knife of a short life
by Baby Cheerio
Summary: From the click of a light to the start of a dream, Chuck Bass wants to touch the sky. Oh Life is lonely when there's no you and I. Chuck/Blair Happy ending! Oneshot


IDK, just a wee idea of if Chuck had fallen in season 2… R&R

_In death, life becomes inconsequential. In life, consequence derives death._

**[Anonymous]**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He's seventeen and alone and drunk on a rooftop, which really isn't the way the world should be. He should have a mother who worries when he takes one sip of beer, and a father who gives him friendly lectures and takes him to basketball games. The world is corrupt, he thinks fleetingly. The thought is washed away by another wave of scotch pouring down his throat. He staggers to the side of the building and hoists himself up onto the ledge to look down at mankind below him. He barely hears the rooftop door bang open or hear the only girl he ever _love/like/lusted_ after.

"I'm Chuck Bass! Nobody cares," he yells his plea into oblivion.

Blair doesn't even know if she's breathed in the past ten minutes.

She looks at the bottle of scotch in his hand. Typical. Scotch has never been the drink for theatrics but she's crying and he's drunk on a roof top so theatrics are all they have.

"I do. Don't you understand? I'll always be here. I don't want you going anywhere. I couldn't bear it. So whatever you want to do to yourself, please don't do it to me. Please."

His gut instinct says not to let her in, not to break you and her like you did last time. But there are tears in her eyes and he goes to take her hand coz he thinks he just might die if he doesn't. but she's too weak and there's too much alcohol pulling his body down and instead of on the roof with her where he belongs he's tumbling somewhere dark; like Alice down the rabbit hole and then… Nothing.

.

.

.

Is this hell?

_This is neither heaven nor hell nor purgatory._

Where am I then?

_You are wherever you feel you should be._

I'm dead, right?

_Perhaps._

That's not an answer. Am I dead?

_There are no yes or no's here. You are what you are._

Oh.

.

.

.

Chuck Bass sits in a room that is all white; at least he thinks it's a room. If he squints it looks a little like the back of his limo, and if he tilts his head to the left it almost reminds him of the MET steps. He looks behind him and suddenly he cannot breathe. He sees Blair, dressed in black, sobbing hysterically. He sprints to her and reaches out to grab her, to touch her, to let her know he's there.

His hand goes straight through her.

.

.

.

He gets used to this place that is neither heaven nor hell nor purgatory soon enough. He quickly realizes that he can will it to morph into wherever he feels needed at the time. Most of the time it's the rooftop of Victrola. It's quiet and peaceful; after a life full of hustle and bustle he likes to think he deserves this.

.

.

.

The most surprising thing is probably that he sleeps here. It seems weird that even now that he's…

**(What is he? A spirit? A ghost? Nothing?)**

He still feels the all-too-human tug of sleep drifting over him. He doesn't like to sleep because that's the one time he can't avoid _her_. He closes his eyes and suddenly he's blinded by her beauty, her tears the way she kind of crumples to the ground and he knows it's his entire fault. He never wanted to become what he is; the brooding, tortured rich boy who has oh-so-many vices. But as is the way of life, it is what it is. His fate was unavoidable the moment he was born.

.

.

.

One morning,

**(Do they have mornings here? This elsewhere place?)**

He awakens in his limo sitting across from his father.

"You're dead," he tells him bluntly, which is nothing if a little hypocritical because what is Chuck?

_Everybody dies. _

**(Now he knows who the voice is.)**

Am I dead?

.

His father takes a moment, as if surveying the scene in front of him before handing his son a drink.

.

_Not yet._

I should be.

_So what now?_

I stay here with you.

_Get out of the limo, Chuck._

I can't.

_Why not?_

Because, it doesn't hurt here. I don't, I don't want to be in pain, I don't want to be miserable… and I don't want her to hate me.

_Well, we don't always get what we want do we._

.

Chuck takes a moment, then nods; accepting his fate. Bartholomew Bass nods back. It's as close to an I-love-you as they ever get. Chuck puts down his scotch and opens the limo door and into the light.

.

.

.

Charles Bass awakes in a hospital that is all white and sees a girl. Not a princess or a goddess or a vision. Just a girl; one whose heart he has broken too many times in their seventeen years of life. But she forgives him anyway and holds out her hand.

It still hurts.

Chuck takes her hand because he might die

**(Again,)**

If he doesn't.

Chuck Bass doesn't die at seventeen.

.

Instead he holds the hand of a girl.

.

.

.

_x_


End file.
